


Sacrifices

by The_trash_cannot



Series: The Masks of Mairon [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Human Sacrifice, M/M, Mairon does not deal with separation well, Númenor, Second Age, angbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 07:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_trash_cannot/pseuds/The_trash_cannot
Summary: Tar-Mairon reminisces within the Temple of Melkor, and devises a plan for Númenor.





	Sacrifices

**Author's Note:**

> So, this kind of came out of nowhere while I was writing a Melkor scene for Baptized in Blood and Flame, but enjoy.

 

> _Tar-Mairon_

Red blood poured from his knife, running from the gaping chest of the Numenorean war slave, pooling on the floor. The blood ran in rivulets in between the tiles of the rich mosaic that covered the floor of his temple. A temple to his lord, his king, his _god._

That blood, the same crimson of the pupils within his golden eyes, was an honor to his god, whose power these Numenoreans bowed so easily before. That blood, bringing back so many deep memories, memories older than the isle of Numenor, than the moon itself.

_Dark laughter that seemed to shake the fabric of Arda._

He raised the man’s still-warm heart above his head, letting more blood run down his hands.

_A hand that caressed his copper-red hair._

Words flowed from his mouth, useless and meaningless to him, but holy writ for the fools who prostrated themselves so freely at his feet with the smallest hint of true power.

_Intimate, passionate, burning moments deep within iron fortresses._

The braiser belched a foul smoke as it consumed the heart.

_His hammer and anvil in Almaren, crafting ever darker and more twisted creations._

As it finally turned to ash, a final memory pulled him in.

 

_The night he had finally allowed Melkor to steal him away from the service of the Valar. The Lamps had crumbled, crashing into the sea as the world darkened behind them. Faster and faster Melkor pulled him, racing north away from Almaren, away from the Valar. Mairon’s fëa had glowed brighter than the hottest fire that day, turning his hair into a licking wreath of flame. As soon as they landed, Melkor’s arms were around him, their lips together, the gates of Utumno all but forgotten before them. The feel of his master’s hands stoked his flame even higher, scorching the earth around them. It could have been hours or days before they broke apart to finally admire their palace. Yes, Mairon thought. This was what his Master deserved. A palace, for he was a king._

_And oh, how he loved his king._

_He loved the feeling of them together, the way their bodies and spirits entwined, the indescribable highs and unimaginable lows. The shivers that ran through his body as the slightest touch from his Master._

_He owed Melkor everything, and he would give him his life, his soul, and his body for the rest of time._

  


The chanting of the Numenoreans behind him was what pulled him from his trance. Anger rose like bile within Tar-Mairon’s throat. Anger for Manwë, anger for Aulë, anger for Iluvatar, anger for himself, anger for that _child_ who fancied himself a king when he was no more than a thrall. No more than something to be used and thrown away.

His golden eyes raised. To where no mortal eye could see, where the ever-cursed Valar sat within their palaces, where his lord, his king, his god lay imprisoned.

“Tar-Mairon?” The false king stood behind him, following his gaze to the land he had taught them to hate.

A deep satisfaction settled over Mairon’s soul as he turned away from the sight of Valinor. There was a new plan to be brought to fruition.


End file.
